


Gather up the splinters

by Claire



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 3B Canon Compliant, M/M, Pre-Slash, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-30
Updated: 2014-04-30
Packaged: 2018-01-21 08:01:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1543514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Claire/pseuds/Claire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which the pack worry about Chris after he loses Allison.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gather up the splinters

The pack aren't worried about Chris' reaction to losing Allison, they're worried about his lack of reaction. They never see him mourn, and they never see him grieve. Even at the funeral, as they watch the coffin Allison lies in lowered to rest beside her mother, Chris is like a statue. He shakes the hands of the people who attend and thanks the priest who led the service, and through each of it he refuses to meet the eyes of any of the pack.

Chris still attends pack meetings, still helps patrol the area around Beacon Hills, still stands beside them in defending their home. He goes through the motions so perfectly that it takes a few weeks for them to realise what's happening.

It's Lydia who notices it first, notices that Chris is too quick and too willing to throw himself in front of whatever is facing them. And once she sees it, once she mentions it to the others, they all realise.

That Chris may not be putting a gun to his own head, but he may as well be. That he's all too willing to hand himself over to the teeth and claws, bypassing the planning and precision he used to rely on for whatever will put him in the direct path of whatever's coming towards them.

It comes to a head in the preserve. The hydra's trapped in a circle of magic, the combined voices of Lydia and Stiles working in tandem to keep it there, while the wolves attack the heads.

It's Peter who is the closest to Chris when it happens. Peter, who is the one who hears the gun stop firing. When Peter looks over, he doesn't see Chris reloading, he sees the gun drop to the ground as Chris charges forward, eyes blank and focused on the deadly claws in front of him.

Peter doesn't even think before he moves, spinning away from the hydra and ignoring the growl from Derek as he leaves his nephew to deal with the snapping jaws alone. He tackles Chris to the ground, arms wrapped around the other man. And Chris struggles. He fights and he punches and he tries everything to get out of Peter's grip, but Peter doesn't let go, just tightens his grip and holds on.

The fight goes on behind them, but Peter ignores it. Ignores it in favour for the man in his arms. He's murmuring words, soft and soothing, and he knows Chris isn't hearing them, but Peter keeps saying them anyway. He says them because he knows. He knows what it's like to lose everything, knows what he would have given for useless words that would have at least shown someone cared.

The struggles lessen, and Peter hears a sobbed out _Allison--_ before Chris shudders, all but collapsing in Peter's hold, tears hot and wet, soaking into Peter's t-shirt from where Chris' face is pressed against him.

Peter hears the hydra fall behind him, hears the spark and hiss of the flesh melting from it as it finally succumbs to death. There's a hand on his shoulder, and Peter looks up into Derek's eyes, shaking his head and mouthing _It's fine--_ as his nephew motions towards Chris.

Chris is still shaking in Peter's arms, and Peter knows the hunter won't want the others to see him like this. Derek nods as he moves away, and the low voices and footfalls of the rest of the pack steadily fade into nothing.

The tears dry up after a while, Chris having cried himself into exhaustion in Peter's hold. It's dark and there's a chill in the air, and Peter's sure that's a stone digging into his ass, but he doesn't move. He doesn't do anything except keep his arms around Chris, cradling Chris' head against his chest, and running gentle fingers through his hair, until the sun starts to appear over the horizon, shafts of soft light shining through the trees.

It's a beginning--


End file.
